


Space Invader

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 1000-3000 words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Has a very slight and peculiar consent issue within the context of an ongoing relationship.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Space Invader

**Author's Note:**

> Has a very slight and peculiar consent issue within the context of an ongoing relationship.

The first time Fraser stayed the night at Ray's apartment, Ray reached across him to set the clock radio alarm, then gave him a small embarrassed-looking grin and said, "I gotta warn you."

"Hmm?" Fraser said. He was warm and sated and sleepy and it was hard to imagine anything Ray could possibly be embarrassed about at this point.

"Stella always said I was kind of an octopus once I was asleep. You end up on the couch, I won't take it personal."

"Nonsense," Fraser said, and Ray smiled bigger and turned out the light.

************************************************************************************

"Octopus," it turned out, was only one among many appropriate metaphors. Fraser lay awake for quite some time with Ray's arm across his chest, Ray's leg across his knees, Ray's head on his shoulder and Ray's nose making occasional snuffling sounds into his neck, and mused, "Remora. Lamprey. Kudzu. Strangler fig." Then he sternly cut off that unhelpful line of thought and repeated to himself, "You _can_ breathe. You _can_ breathe," until he drifted off.

"Was I too, uh, grabby?" Ray said in the morning.

"You are a delightful bedmate, Ray," Fraser told him, and since he was mentally averaging in the sex with the kudzu-ing, that was entirely true.

************************************************************

It was some weeks later, in an exceptionally tedious Consulate meeting, that Fraser noticed he was not merely doing his usual (guilty, but apparently unavoidable) fantasizing about Sex with Ray Later; he was actually tuning out the droning of some officious official with a pleasant memory of Ray using him as a full-body pillow, Ray's thigh warm on his and Ray's hair tickling his chin. Apparently at some point Fraser had stopped minding.

And after that it was just part and parcel of Ray; Ray was friendly shoulder-jostling in public, more-than-friendly kisses on the couch, a hot mouth everywhere on Fraser in the bedroom, and a warm tangle of limbs through the watches of the night.

***********************************************************

Tonight, though. Tonight it was problematic.

It had been a frantically busy period at work for both of them, and days since they'd had any—-intimate time together. (_Nine_ days, Fraser's brain insisted on noting, and he told it firmly that he was _not counting_.) But Fraser's schedule was finally slackening, and he'd had hopes that this Friday night they'd both arrive home early and energetic.

Ray called, though, to say there was a breakthrough in the sapphire-smuggling case and he would be caught up for God knows how long in booking and interviews.

When he finally arrived home it was almost 2 a.m. Fraser had been distracting himself with a book, but the instant Ray walked into the bedroom, looking rumpled and exhausted and ludicrously desirable, there was no tamping down those thoughts anymore.

And of course there was no voicing them either, because Ray was practically staggering with tiredness; making demands, even hinted ones, would have been most unkind.

"Sorry, Frase," Ray said, peeling off clothes. "Those guys. There were seventeen fucking guys. And they were _nuts_."

He collapsed facefirst into his pillow, mumbled, "They had _dachsunds_. With little fucking _hats_."

"_Hats_, Ray?" Fraser said, but Ray was already snoring.

Fraser indulged in just looking at him for a moment, then rolled as far away as he could get from the scent and the heat of Ray, told himself that tomorrow morning would be worth the wait. He tried not to dwell on that thought in too much detail, though, as it would not be conducive to sleep. There was another possible route to relaxation, obviously, but no matter how often Ray said, "Geez, go for it when you need to, Fraser, _I_ do--" he could not quite bring himself to take it.

He sighed and turned off the lamp on his nightstand.

And from across the bed Ray made a quizzical sleep-noise and started wiggling toward him.

He hoped, briefly, that Ray would run out of steam, fall into a stiller stage of sleep before reaching him; but no, Ray was soon fully up against his back, nose pressed between shoulderblades, knees spooned up behind legs, and oh God. His arm slid across Fraser's hip and his warm fingers loosely cupped Fraser's cock through his boxers.

Fraser took several deep calming breaths and then slowly, gently, took hold of Ray's wrist and tried to lift his hand.

Ray made a cranky "Qnnnnrrf," sound into Fraser's back and his fingers _tightened_ slightly.

And that was it, really. Fraser gave up. He composed a quite-convincing argument in his head--that Ray would certainly give enthusiastic consent if he _were_ awake; that their current level of intimacy provided default consent unless specifically withdrawn; that dealing with his needs without waking Ray was a kindness. But by the time he'd finished making these logical arguments he'd already shoved his boxer shorts down, clasped Ray's hand tighter still around his cock and started moving it fast and hard. Evidently the chant beneath those arguments, the chant of "Ray fingers hot good YES" was more speedily persuasive than logic.

He came hard into Ray's hand, panting as quietly as he could. And while he was plotting to slide carefully out of bed and get a washcloth to clean Ray up without waking him, he fell quite thoroughly asleep.

*****************************************************************************

He woke with Ray stirring next to him in the morning light, and had a moment of looking forward to a relaxed day off before Ray raised a hand to scrub sleepily at his face, and Fraser panicked.

Ray wrinkled his nose, sniffed at his palm and said, "Whoa, was that me or you or both of us? I musta really been out of it, I don't even remember being awake for that long."

And immediately Fraser's "implied consent" argument seemed horribly specious and self-serving--he had simply _used_ Ray, and he blushed hot with the shame of it.

Ray looked at him and burst out laughing. "While I was _asleep?!_? Jesus, Fraser, you are a _total horndog_." The smile he gave Fraser then looked—-amused and flattered and, weirdly, _proud_ of Fraser, which he had no time to even _begin_ to figure out before Ray was tugging on his wrist, saying, "C'mon in the shower, you owe me one."

 

\--END--


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